Reconciliation
by hrhowling
Summary: The one thing Stanley wanted was to understand why his brother grew to hate him so much. If only he was allowed the chance. (Short story collection; set before 'Fallen Dream'. Mostly just bro-fluff between Stand and Ford. Rated for: Alcohol, violence and swearing)
1. Reconciliation - Prologue

**Yeah, so this is a prequel to Fallen Dream. A bit of a mini project because I just wanted to explain how the Stan twins reconciled. This is probably going to be several chapters long, followed by a few one-to-two-shots about events afterwards. Enjoy.**

 **Oh, and just to warn you, this first story contains alcohol and swearing. No slash, though; just brotherly love.**

* * *

 **Prologue – Something's Wrong**

Stanley frowned as he observed the security tapes of last night's activity for the second time that evening. Nothing; not even the slightest whisper or most miniscule flicker of light; sounded in the room where the vending machine was situated. He fast-forwarded it to the next hour, his eyes locked on the entrance to the basement. Still, nothing was disturbed.

 _That's the fourth night in a row,_ Stanley thought worriedly. _He hasn't come out except to grab coffee in the mornings, and then there was that little outing a few days before. Something's wrong._

Sighing, he switched off the monitor and pulled out the tape before joining Dipper and Mabel in the living room for their regular Friday night TV dinners. The younger Pines twins had already picked out a show, and were currently watching a bad horror comedy movie and laughing at the lame special effects.

* * *

 _He grimaced as he forced down another sip of the bitter liquid in his mug. It tasted vile, but he supposed that was his fault, seeing as how he'd neglected to add milk to it, and he'd also let it get cold hours ago. Or at least he assumed it was hours ago. It was impossible to keep track of time down here, especially since his clock was broken. Oh, god, he felt so tired. When was the last time he slept? Perhaps he could just-._

No!

 _The moment he felt his eyelids drooping, the paranoid, fearful voice in his head yelled at him to stay awake, and he jolted back into reality. It didn't make him feel any less exhausted, though. His eyes itched horribly, and his head throbbed immensely; making it impossible to think clearly. A sickening, cavernous hunger gnawed ravenously at his insides, and his mouth and throat felt desolately dry._

You need to stay awake, _insisted the jittery, caffeine-fuelled part of him that was always suspicious of something attacking him._ You need to get the job done.

 _Yes… yes, he had to keep on working. Something still could have followed him through to portal, and for all he knew, it could be waiting for him to drop his guard so that it could sneak out of the lab and wreak havoc outside._

 _A hoarse moan rasped out of his throat as he buried his face in his hands in despair. Why was he so exhausted? He had to work, so why was fatigue so insistent on dragging him into the depths of sleep? Urgh, he… he needed another drink._

 ** _No, you don't,_** _fought back another, more resigned voice in his mind._ _ **You need to rest.**_

 _Ignoring the voice of reason, he reached out and grasped the half-empty bottle that was on his desk and took a heavy swig from it. It wasn't even a moment later before a mind-numbing fuzziness replaced all feeling of his ailments._

 _Time to get back to work._


	2. Reconciliation - Chapter 1

**Now for the actual story! Enjoy my shameless messing with Stanford's head!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – Sleepless (Among Other Things)**

A week. Stanford hadn't left the lab in a week; except to make himself a cup of coffee ridiculously early in the mornings. No one had been able to talk to him in all that time or even seen him for that matter, and in the small glimpses of him that Stanley got from the night's security footage, he didn't seem to be in the best state of mind. He kept visibly glancing about, as if he thought someone was watching him.

 _This has been going on for too long,_ Stanley thought grimly as he switched off the monitor that played the tapes yet again. _As much of a jerk he may be, I'm still worried about him. If he's not out by evening, I'll go down and talk some sense into him. Knock it into him, if I have to._

* * *

Evening came, and the six-fingered Pines twin hadn't shown his face.

 _That's it,_ Stanley silently fumed as he strode towards the vending machine and impatiently punched in the code that opened it up. _Enough is enough. Damn egghead needs to get his head out of whatever dusty book he has it shoved in, and start looking after himself!_

The ride down the elevator took seemingly forever, but a glance at his watch when he finally reached the bottom told Stanley that; in reality; it had only been a minute and a half. As soon as the door slid open, he strode out and into the room where the lopsided frame of the portal resided; dormant and foreboding.

"Stanford!" he called out. "Everything okay?"

When he didn't receive a reply, even more worry began to creep in. Had something happened? Was his brother alright? Looking around, Stanley walked over to the work desk in the corner and switched on the light to reveal the form of Stanford Pines slumped over the cluttered surface. He was muttering something; having seemingly not noticed his brother's presence. Scattered around the desk were several empty glass bottles, and empty mugs that must have once contained coffee before they'd been drained of their contents. It was easy to guess what was in the bottles.

"You've been drinking?!" Stanley demanded in shock. "Stanford, what the heck?!"

Stanford let out a startled grunt; quickly raising his head to look up at Stanley with weary, bloodshot brown eyes that bore deep, dark circles beneath them. A stale reek of alcohol and sweat pervaded the air around him, his face was deathly pale and sunken, and he was in desperate need of a shave if the thick coating of stubble on his chin was any indicator. His hair was unkempt and greasier than a portion of Lazy Susan's French fries (which was an achievement in itself); sticking out every which way; and his clothes were filthy. Stanley could only sum this up as; he looked like shit.

"Wha' was tha', Stanley?" he asked irritably, his words somewhat slurred; confirming the suspicion that he was drunk; meaning he'd been drinking recently. "Look, I'm working, so geddit over with."

Thoroughly pissed off; and if only a little worried; Stanley picked up one of the bottles of beer (one that still had some alcohol in it) and held it in front of his brother's face. "What the heck is this?" he interrogated.

"Beer?" Stanford replied sarcastically. "Why'd'you care?"

"Stanford, just how much have you had today?"

Stanford lazily shrugged, looking tipsier by the second, even though he hadn't had anything more to drink since Stan had entered the room. "One bottle, maybe two," he slurred. "And a half," he added after a moment.

Stanley groaned in exasperation and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Stanford, you are drunk as all hell," he muttered.

"Really? Huh. Never been drunk before. At leas' no' before you brought me back."

Sighing in exasperation, Stanley shook his head. Of course. Thirty years ago, Stanford wouldn't have dared to even _look_ at alcohol, and he doubted that in the other dimension, he'd have any access to it, so of course he'd wind up getting very intoxicated, very quickly.

"Tell me you've been getting enough sleep, at least," he begged.

Something flashed through Stanford's eyes, but it was gone before Stan could discern what emotion it was exactly. "N-no," he murmured quietly. "I've just been workin'."

"You mean you haven't gotten _any_ sleep at all?!"

Stanford's jaw clenched, and he averted his drunken gaze from Stan's eyes. "I need to finish working," he said blankly.

"On what, Stanford?" Stan challenged angrily. "Making sure nothing has gotten through that portal? You've been doing that for two weeks, and you mean to tell me that you haven't slept for that entire time? That's not healthy!"

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You've been living on nothing but coffee, you look like you're about to pass out, and it's driven you to drink! You are nowhere near fine!"

Stanford opened his mouth to argue, but before he could say anything, Stanley had grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet; forcing a yell of outrage from him.

"What're you-?!"

"You are taking a break, Poindexter," Stanley snarled, dragging his brother out of the lab and into the elevator. "Whether you like it or not, you _will_ get some sleep and a decent meal into you."

Before Stanford could protest, he'd been shoved into the elevator wall and held there whilst it slowly shuddered to life and took him up to ground level. In stubborn desperation, he tried to struggle against his brother's hold, but the exhaustion of two sleepless weeks and fatigue of so many meals missed began to take hold of his scrawny frame; making his attempts futile.

"You're not going back down there, you idiot," Stanley growled. "And that's final."

His twin let out a wordless snarl of indignation before giving up. "I hate you," he grumbled quietly; his words clearly tainted with alcohol.

Stanley didn't respond; instead keeping a firm hold on Stanford until the elevator stopped moving. Kicking open the door, he gripped his brother by the shoulder as he marched him upstairs.

"I thought the kitchen was-," Stanford began, only to be cut off by Stanley.

"You're showering, first," Stan grunted. "You stink of alcohol, and I swear; your hair is greasier than Lazy Susan's French fries."

Much to his relief, Stanford didn't argue, and when he was in the bathroom, he started removing his clothes one by one. Thankfully, the alcohol didn't seem to be inhibiting his motor systems, so Stanley didn't have to worry about him falling over and hitting his head. Well, he'd worry less, at least.

"I'll get you some clean clothes," Stanley grunted as he closed the bathroom door. "Try not to get a concussion."

Stanford rolled his eyes in annoyance as he slid off his shirt. Stanley was right; he was filthy, and now that that fact was brought into light, he felt disgusting. And not just the dirty kind of disgusting either. A bubbling feeling of loathing rose up in him, and he felt repulsed by his sheer incompetence. Had he really become that dependent on others in the thirty years he'd been gone? True, there'd been times when he'd gotten a little too engrossed in his research to the point where one of his comrades had to literally drag him away from it, but he didn't think it had gotten _that_ bad.

He groaned in exasperation as his alcohol-induced headache spiked. He couldn't think about this now; he was better off just showering and getting this over with so that he could get back to work without Stanley bothering him.

* * *

Stanford was in the shower for almost an hour, and when he was finally out, he actually felt a lot better. He was still somewhat inebriated, but at least he was more alert than before. After donning the pyjamas and dressing gown, he considered shaving himself, but chose not to, on the conclusion that he did not want to accidentally slice his face open, and wearily trudged downstairs. By now, it was evident that feeling refreshed was very different from being physically rested. His body still screamed at him to rest, and his stomach's complaints for food had reached a point where they were painful and almost made him double over.

"Well, at least the smell's gone," Stanley joked as Stanford walked in. "Go on; dig in," he said; gesturing to a bowl full of steaming hot gumbo. Its tantalising aroma quickly found its way to Stanford, and he immediately started drooling. "Well, that's enough to tell me what you think of my cooking. I just wish you'd feel the same about me."

Opening his mouth, Stanford was about to respond with a barbed witticism, but instead, a harsh groan escaped him as the cramps of his stomach suddenly increased tenfold. This time, he really did double over in pain. Maybe he should have eaten more often.

"Stanford?" Stan ventured worriedly as he saw his brother fall to the floor. "Everything okay, Poindexter?" Anxious, he walked over and knelt beside him.

"I'm fine," Stanford growled, pushing Stanley away weakly. "Just… just stomach cramps."

Stanley frowned. "That's what happens when you don't eat for a week," he reprimanded.

"You sound like Dad."

"Shut up and eat already."

Grimacing, Stanford shakily rose to his feet and stumbled over to the table where he picked up his spoon and helped himself to a mouthful of gumbo. The moment he'd swallowed it, the full force of his hunger hit him, and he discarded the spoon, diving into his food like an animal. Alarmed by the sudden voracity of his brother's appetite, Stan stepped forward and tried to stop him from making himself sick; only to receive a low, bestial growl, telling him to back off.

"Jesus Christ, what's gotten into you?" Stanley implored, scowling in irritation when Stanford just growled at him again. There was a feral defensiveness in the man's eyes that reminded him of a cougar he'd found that was hoarding its kill. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't get sick."

Stanford regarded him warily; the wild animosity still simmering in his eyes, which were more bloodshot than before. A sound that seemed to be a mix between a grunt and a snarl left him, and he returned to eating in the same fashion as before, but thankfully at a slower pace. When he was done, he pushed the bowl away and accepted the tissue that Stanley held out for him to wipe his face with it.

"What was that all about?" Stanley asked firmly as he handed his brother a glass of water that he immediately chugged down. "Because no one's reacted to my gumbo like _that_ before."

"Bad habit, I guess," Stanford mumbled quietly; refusing to meet eyes with Stanford's. "Quite a lot of a time, I had to contend with other predators for a decent meal; even when I was with the others."

"Others?"

"Some people I got to know back at the other dimension. Most of them acted like animals as well."

Stanley wanted to ask more, but the look in his brother's eyes told him that he didn't want to delve any further into the matter, so he decided not to pry.

"Well, look," he began, "you should get some sleep. Unfortunately, your room became Soo's break room, so… you're going to have to take my bed whilst I crash on the couch."

The darker-haired twin opened his mouth to argue, but after several seconds of what Stanley presumed as an impression of a lazy goldfish, he closed it and nodded in reluctant consent. "Alright."

"Good. Now get to bed; I'm gonna shower. You'd better be asleep when I get in there."

That same indiscernible emotion flickered through Stanford's eyes, and again, it was gone before Stan could make anything of it. Standing up, Ford slowly trudged out of the room.

* * *

When Stanley walked into his bedroom, he silently cursed when he saw that Stanford was still awake. His twin was sat with his back on the headboard and his knees brought up to his chest; chin resting atop them. His glasses were still perched on his nose – albeit at a slightly crooked angle – but his eyes were unfocused, as if he weren't all there.

"I thought I told you to get some sleep," Stan growled, catching Stanford off guard.

"I can't sleep," Ford murmured.

"Why not?"

Again, the mystery emotion flared up in Stanford's eyes, and Stan realised that he was seeing _fear_. "You have no idea how difficult it was to get even an hour of decent sleep in that place," he said gravely. "Everyone was paranoid that somehow we'd die in our sleep, and some of us got put through horrors that left us terrified of falling asleep, and if we weren't on the lookout for something that was on our tail then it was the nightmares that kept us up."

Stanley gave his brother a scrutinising gaze, trying to see if he was merely exaggerating as a means to be stubborn, but the dread he saw was genuine. He was legitimately frightened to go to sleep, even if his face didn't betray his true emotions. Sighing, he walked over to the bed.

"Move over, Poindexter," he grunted, surprising Stanford. "You're on my side of the bed."

Somewhat dumbstruck to the point where he didn't know what to say, Stanford hastily moved over; allowing Stanley to lie down on the bed. However, he didn't lie down himself.

"What're you doing, Stanley?" he questioned when he got over the initial shock.

"Sleeping, what else? If you're anything like you were forty years ago, you'll start tossing about if you have a nightmare. Chances are you'll kick me, and I'll be right here to calm you down."

Stanford seemed reluctant to share a bed with his brother, and perhaps a little repulsed by the idea, but he didn't argue or voice his displeasure. He was too drained of fight to do anything of the sort, so he resignedly lay on his side with his back to Stanley.

"Goodnight, Stanley," he murmured, pulling the blanket over himself.

"G'night, Ford," Stan returned as he followed suit. Taking off his glasses, he switched off the light and let weariness take over.

Stanford, however, wasn't finding it so easy to let the depths of sleep lure him in. The looming dread of nightmares was still enduring his constant reassurances that there was no reason for him to be so worried. Curling in on himself tightly, he shifted backwards ever so slightly, until he could feel Stanley's back against his. The warmth of another body was an immediate comfort to him, and he felt somewhat reassured that he wasn't sleeping alone. As much as he tried to act tougher than he really was, he was still vulnerable and emotionally unstable, despite what everyone thought.

When Stan's faint snoring gradually filled the air, the pull of sleep became even more irresistible. He felt his eyelids drooping, and even though the paranoid voice in his head desperately tried to get him to stay awake, it was no use. Succumbing to exhaustion, he felt himself slip into impenetrable darkness.


	3. Reconciliation - Chapter 2

**Some funny fluff, and a headcanon that I stole from a Tumblr user (I can't remember the name, sorry!) ahead. The headcanon is that Ford has some really bad social anxiet after coming back through the portal.**

 _ **Liliana Dragonshard:**_ **I didn't want to torture you with suspense ;) And yeah, I'm guessing Ford doesn't deserve the stuff he's been put through, but he was a bit of a jerk to Stan, so he kinda deserves it a little.**

 _ **How About That:**_ **Thank you! I'm glad you like my madness. (p.s. I am in love with your Gravity Falls stories, they're so good!)**

 _ **jj (Guest):**_ **Glad you enjoyed it. I wasn't intending for humour in that part, but I suppose, depending on how you look at it, it is rather funny. Here, have some more hilarity (aka Stanley's attitude)**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 – Denied!**

Stanley woke up to feel something warm pressed into his side. At first, he was confused, but then he remembered his brother getting drunk, and finding out about how he'd spent almost a week in the lab without sleeping, along with the sleeping arrangements.

Looking down at his brother, he saw that the man was finally sleeping; pressed up against him with his head resting on Stan's chest. He still had his glasses on; which was bound to be uncomfortable when he woke up; and his brow was creased with worry. He'd probably had a nightmare in the middle of the night and hugged the nearest thing available, because he was literally clinging onto Stanley like he was some sort of oversized teddy bear.

Craning his neck, Stanley checked his alarm clock, which read 8am. As much as he hated getting out of bed any earlier than 10am, he had to open up the Shack for the next batch of walking wal-. Tourists!

Carefully; so as not to wake him; Stan prised Ford's arms off of him and slid off of the bed. Unfortunately, he didn't anticipate the startlingly loud squeak that his bead made when he stood up.

"Huh, wha..?" Stanford mumbled in a half-awake stupor that was aided by the hangover he inevitably had. "S-Stanley? Whaddaye..?"

"Go back to sleep, Stanford," Stan hushed, carefully slipping Ford's glasses from his face and setting them aside. The frames had left some visible marks on his face that accentuated the still prominent, bruise-like circles that surrounded his eyes, essentially making him look worse.

Stanford mumbled something unintelligible, but he didn't look all too eager to do as he was told. Thankfully, he still seemed too exhausted to argue or fight off sleep, and merely curled up and succumbed to the pull of sleep.

Sighing with relief, Stanley walked into the bathroom to shower and get changed into his suit and fez. When he walked back into his room to grab his 8-ball cane, he paused momentarily to run a hand through Ford's hair. He received a low whine in response as his brother shivered beneath the touch, so he quickly withdrew his hand. At least it was better than a grouchy, sleep-deprived Stanford Pines.

Once he was certain everything was well with his twin, Stanley left the room and headed downstairs, where he saw Soos helping Dipper and Mabel stock up a few shelves.

"Soos," he called bluntly, immediately catching the handyman's attention. "Mind doing a quick job for me besides stacking the shelves? This one's… quite important."

"Sure thing, Mr. Pines," Soos said eagerly. "What do you need me to do?"

Glancing towards the kids, Stan beckoned for Soos to follow him into the 'Employees Only' room. Once in there, he turned to the handyman with a grim look on his face.

"I'd like you to do a quick sweep of the house," he requested firmly. "Any alcohol you find; throw. It. Out. Can you do that for me?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Pines, but can I ask why? I mean; you don't usually have any beer or stuff around, right?"

Stan shot another glance at the door to make sure the kids weren't listening in. They weren't. "I caught Stanford getting himself drunk in the lab last night," he explained quickly. "That, topped off with a diet of nothing but coffee made him spend the entire week working nonstop in the lab. Literally; he hadn't slept at all. He probably would have wound up dead if I hadn't checked on him. I'm going to be keeping him out of the basement for a short while until he learns his lesson, but I need to make sure he doesn't try to get himself drunk any more. See why I need your help?"

"You can count on me, Mr. Pines," Soos assured him as he walked away to carry out the search for alcohol.

"Oh, and lock up the coffee machine as well, while you're at it," Stanford called after him.

* * *

Stanford had never found it so hard to wake up. His eyes felt like they'd been glued shut, and his limbs felt like lead. A dull ache was present in his insides, and his head was reduced to an annoyingly fuzzy mush. Was this what a hangover felt like?

Groaning, he sluggishly pushed himself into a sitting position and forced his eyes to open. Rubbing at them vigorously, he looked around to try and scope his surroundings. He was in a cluttered bedroom, lying on the bed. He couldn't make out much, and it was a moment before he realised he wasn't wearing his glasses.

"How did I wind up in here?" he asked himself. Most of the past… week or so..? He didn't know; it was all a blur.

 _"_ _That's what happens when you don't eat for a week."_

 _"_ _You mean you haven't gotten_ any _sleep at all?!"_

 _"_ _You've been drinking?!"_

Oh. Now he remembered. A week ago, he'd visited town to buy some beer, purely out of curiosity as to what alcohol was like (he'd avoided it like the plague after he'd learned what it was back when he'd been about eleven, and in the other dimension, it hadn't exactly been available to him on tap); he really hadn't meant for it to get to the point where he was pretty much an alcoholic. Then he'd more or less became a caffeine addict as well after living off of coffee in order to skive off of sleep. Topped off with the fact that he hadn't eaten in all that time, either, it was hardly a surprise he felt so lousy.

Feeling thoroughly disgusted with himself, Stanford lay back down and proceeded to sulk. "You've really let yourself go this time, haven't you, Stanford?" he growled to himself.

After a few more minutes of wallowing in self-pity, Stanford complied with the irritable complaints of his stomach and forced himself out of bed (ignoring the nauseating headache that he received as a result) and stumbled to the door. He wasn't sure what time it was, but if he could take a wild guess according to the fierce sunlight shining through the curtains, it was probably either late morning or early afternoon. Stanley and the twins were likely working in the Mystery Shack, meaning the kitchen would be empty.

Of course, he'd forgotten about the Shack's handyman, who was currently fixing a leaky pipe in the sink.

"Good morning Mr Pines' brother," Soos greeted as Stanford trudged in. "Haven't seen you in a while."

Confused, Stanford just stood in the doorway and stared at him in confusion for a moment. "Oh, um… right… good morning, Soos," he mumbled hesitantly. Geez, he needed to learn how to socialise all over again. Well, it's not like it was ever easy _before_ he disappeared.

"Dude, you okay?" Soos asked. "You don't look so cool."

"Besides feeling like a train wreck? I'm fine. Do you know where the cereal is? I need something to eat."

"Top shelf to the left of the stove, dude," stated Soos, pointing towards the cupboard in question. Stanford shot him a weak smile of gratitude and walked over. The variety of cereals before him caught him off guard, and he didn't realise he'd been staring at the boxes until Soos sidled up to him.

"I personally prefer the chocolate hoops, but if you don't like sweet things, then I'd suggest the cornflakes," he put forward in an attempt to be helpful. "Anyways, I gotta get back to the shop; I'm done with that pipe, so you're free to use the sink now, sir."

Stanford nodded slowly, hardly noticing when Soos left the room. After a few more moments of observing the multiple types of cereal on offer, he took the man-child's advice and opted for cornflakes. It took him several minutes to find where the bowls and cutlery were kept, but once he'd had that figured out, he grabbed the milk from the fridge and made himself breakfast. Simple and rather bland, but he was used to such things, so he wasn't all that bothered. When he was finished, he placed the empty bowl in the sink and considered making himself a cup of coffee.

That was when he realised that the coffee machine was missing. Taped to the plug socket where it should have been was a note that read _'No caffeine for you, Ford!'_ in bold black marker pen. Stanley's work, of course.

"Urgh, I need coffee," Stanford growled under his breath. How else was he supposed to function properly in the mornings? But then again, Stanley was probably trying not to let him become a caffeine addict. Either way, he was ticked. Pulling his dressing down tighter around himself, he headed for the gift shop, intending to nag his brother's ear off.

The moment he approached the door leading into the gift shop, he froze up at the sound of people talking. If he stormed in now, he'd have a room full of people staring at him. A room full of _human_ people.

Anxiety began eating away at his irritation, and he raised a now shaking hand to quietly prod the door open a smidge. Looking through, he saw the colourful, blurred shapes of tourists, and the hazy form of his brother was just beginning a tour.

Maybe he could berate his brother for assuming his needs another time. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea. Wholeheartedly agreeing with his anxiety, Stanford backed away and headed upstairs to Stanley's room, where he put on his glasses (he'd forgotten to put them on earlier), before heading to the bathroom. He really needed to shave.

* * *

Stanley had noticed his brother skulking just outside the gift shop, watching the scene with familiar – albeit more exaggerated than he remembered – apprehension evident in his eyes. After a few moments of Stanley watching from the corner of his eye whilst he started up a tour, the nervousness must have reached its peak, because Stanford retreated and didn't come back.

 _He looked a little annoyed,_ Stanford noted. _I'll have to talk to him about what's bothering him. I don't want him doing anything stupid right now._

So when his lunch break finally came around, Stanley sought out his brother, finding him in the kitchen, reading a battered-looking textbook. He was still dressed in the pyjamas and dressing gown that he'd been given last night, and looked tired and irritable. Hardly surprising. Well, at least he'd shaved off that stubble and made an attempt to brush his hair. Now he looked less like a potential junkyard buddy for McGucket. Wait… Never mind.

"Everything alright?" he asked as he walked in and fixed himself a sandwich. "You didn't seem too happy about something this morning."

Stanford glanced up at him before shifting his eyes to the plug socket with the note attached to it. "Subtlety never was your forte, was it?" he muttered.

"Well sorry, but I never received a course in proper rehab conduct," Stanley shot back as he took a bite from his lunch. "I got rid of all the alcohol as well. I do not need you getting drunk around the kids."

Stanford just shrugged and returned to his book.

"Something else was bothering you," Stanley continued. "You looked like you were going over to rant at me for something, but then something else gave you second thoughts."

Silence. The only signal that Stanford had heard him was the slight tension that appeared in his shoulders.

An exasperated sigh escaped Stanley's chest. "Is it your social anxiety again?" he interrogated wearily. "I thought you'd gotten over that when we started high school."

A slow nod was the only answer.

"Well, have fun getting over that when I'm gone."

Confused, Stanford looked up at him with a questioning look. "You're leaving?"

"You wanted your name and house back, right?"

"I never said you had to leave."

"Well, that's the message I got," Stanley said bitterly as he finished his sandwich and left.

* * *

"What the hell?! Stanley, do _not_ tell me you've broken the door to the lab!"

Stanley rolled his eyes as the outraged voice of his brother reached his ears. "I changed the password, genius," he drawled, taking a sip from his can of Pitt Cola. "That damn science lab is the reason you look like a drug addict. You need a few days off."

"You can't do this to me in _my_ house!" Stanford spat back.

"Actually, I can. I'm looking after the kids, and I also have to look after you, because you clearly can't do that on your own."

"I can take perfect care of myself!"

"I beg to differ."

Growling in frustration, Stanford resisted the urge to try and throttle his brother until the imbecile turned purple. But he was still too tired to do much besides gripe and yell at Stanley in an effort to piss him off as much as possible.

"I hate you," he grumbled as he trudged to the living room.

* * *

 **Stanford: *scowls* I don't like what you have planned.**

 **Howl (me): Good, you shouldn't.**

 **Stanley: *looks at me warily* What's that supposed to mean?**

 **Howl: Shut up and ask 'em already, before I get Alter to dye your hair rainbow colours.**

 **Stanley and Stanford: *hastily* Review, please!**

 **Stanley: Don't let her take my dignity!**


	4. Reconciliation - Chapter 3

**More fuzzy stuff (at the beginning, at least). Let me just respond to reviews first, then I'll leave you on your way.**

 _ **Liliana Dragonshard:**_ **Yep, Lee is going down *grins evilly, clearly with an evil plot in mind* And I intend to have some fun with Stanford's social anxiety before fixing it, so keep your eyes peeled for that! ;)**

 _ **HowAboutThat:**_ **Haha, thanks. I owe it to you for these endings, and you're welcome :D**

 **Here's the chapter right now! Prepare to hate me!**

 _ **Aleja08:**_ **Oops. My mistake. ^^; I'm too lazy to change it, though. Sorry if that's a bother to you.**

 _ **Candymouse22 (Guest):**_ **Thank you! Err... you might not be finding it great at the end... Just saying...**

 **So, this here is the second to last chapter of 'Reconciliation', and I have to thank all of you for the 17 faves and the 16 follows that I've got already. I never expected for this story to get so much attention so fast, and it makes me feel all fuzzy to know that there are people out there who will put up with my sadistic insanity. Just... do me one last favour...**

 **Forgive me for this chapter's ending.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 – Another Rough Night**

That night, Stanford couldn't sleep. Again. He was in Stanley's bed again, and said twin was fast asleep on the couch in the living room. Tossing and turning, Stanford _somehow_ managed to get himself hogtied by the sheets within ten minutes of getting into bed.

He continued his restless tirade until late into the night, when; in his frustration; he wound up rolling over and falling out of the bed, landing on his face in the process. Now his nose throbbed painfully, and he couldn't find his darn glasses.

After several minutes of blindly groping around for his glasses, Ford finally managed to find them and slipped them onto his dry, stinging eyes. Once everything was returned to clarity, he straightened himself out and headed for the kitchen. Because two o'clock in the morning was the _perfect_ time for toast.

In the kitchen, he methodically placed the bread in the toaster and got the jam and knife out for when it was ready.

"Hey, Grunkle Ford."

Stanford barely managed to supress the yell of panic that suddenly wanted its way out of his throat. Spinning round to face the source of the voice, he was surprised to find Mabel at the door, looking up at him blearily.

"Oh… Mabel, it's… it's just you. Right. Good, I, um… _ahem_ , right. So… is everything alright?"

Mabel nodded and shot him a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good," she said. "Just after a midnight snack. Seems you beat me to it, huh?"

Stanford's eyes flickered over to the bread that was still in the toaster. "Yep," he replied, allowing himself to relax. "Nothing like some jam and toast at two o'clock in the morning."

The girl gave him a deadpan look, as if he'd just said or done something stupid. "Really?" she questioned incredulously. "Grunkle Ford, jam is for breakfast, not midnight snacks. What you need is this."

Prancing over to one of the cupboards, Mabel rifled through them until she brought out another jar, this time full of a brown substance.

"I present to you; chocolate spread," she announced proudly. "The perfect thing for a midnight snack."

"I'll take your word for it," Stanford chuckled, stepping back to allow Mabel to slather the chocolate spread on the toast and dish it out for him. Once that was done, they both sat at the table and dug into the sweet treat. "This isn't that bad."

"What do you expect? Nobody can shun chocolate. Unless you're allergic, then you kinda have to."

Stanford hummed in acknowledgement and swallowed a mouthful of toast. As he continued to eat, he noticed Mabel observing him closely, her scrutinising gaze making him feel uncomfortable.

"Are you okay, Grunkle Ford?" she asked out of the blue, catching him by surprise.

"Yes, I'm fine," Stanford dismissed, but his niece didn't look convinced.

"Then how come you're eating like that?" she questioned.

"I'm having a midnight snack, just like you said."

"No you're not. You're comfort eating. Something's bothering you."

 _Can she really tell that much just by the way I eat?_ Stanford questioned in mental wonderment. _Ingenious._

"I suppose… I'm not in the best of sorts," he admitted. "Nothing serious, though; just a bit of stress."

"Ish that why you loogh lighe 'oo 'aven' shlep in a while?" Mabel continued through a mouthful of toast.

"Yes. A lot of my attention was on my work."

"Well, shtop it," Mabel mumbled. "Sh'not healthy."

An unexpected chuckle made its way out of Stanford's chest as he took in Mabel's appearance. The pre-teen looked like a disgruntled chipmunk; her mouth and cheeks completely stuffed with chocolatey toast, and sizeable smears of the sweet substance covering her face.

"Wassho funny?" she enquired before finally swallowing her food.

"Hehe, sorry," Stanford snickered. "I just realised how much you looked like a chipmunk with your mouth full like that."

Upon this revelation, Mabel grinned. "Well, I know what to put on my latest sweater, now," she declared. "Thank you, Grunkle Ford."

"You're welcome. Now, are you done with your snack?"

"Yepadoodles."

"Good. Now off to bed; I don't want Stanley tanning my hide for letting you have chocolate in the middle of the night."

"Okay. Goodnight, Grunkle Ford."

"Sweet dreams, Mabel."

Wiping the chocolate from her face, Mabel hopped down from her seat and made her way upstairs. Stanford waited to make sure she'd definitely gone upstairs before rising to his feet and clearing everything away. Once done, he returned to Stanley's room to try and get to sleep.

A while later, he felt his eyelids drooping, but a jolt of fear snapped them open again. He still couldn't sleep. In a burst of frustration, he got up again, picked up a blanket from the foot of the bed along with a pillow, and hastily went downstairs into the living room. There, he found Stanley fast asleep on the couch, snoring heavily. One arm was hanging off of it, fingertips brushing the floor.

Cursing himself for his weakness, Stanford placed the blanket and pillow on the floor in front of the couch and lay down on it. He hated this. He hated having to rely on everyone else for something as simple as a good night's sleep. Stanley was right; he couldn't take care of himself. He'd starved himself for a week – spent most of that time drunk – gotten so absorbed in his work that it came before anything else, including his own family, and he'd lost count of the amount of near-death scrapes he'd gotten into throughout the last forty years. Heck, he'd nearly lost his soul to Bill Cipher! What sort of moron allowed that to happen to themselves?!

An exasperated sigh escaped him as he backed up against the couch, feeling Stanley's hand against his back as he did so. It was oddly comforting, but he flinched when the hand lifted and rested on top of his shoulder. Sheesh. Paranoid, much?

It took a while, but eventually, the steady, rumbling snores of his brother became all-too familiar, and his eyelids felt heavy once more. The paranoid voice in the back of his mind told him not to give in, but he didn't listen this time.

 _Just let me sleep, you annoying little prat,_ he grumbled silently as he slipped into darkness. _I'm tired and miserable, so just leave me alone._

* * *

Several days later, Stanford left the Mystery Shack in a bad mood after having just ended a heated argument with his brother. With Journal #3 in hand, he spent the rest of the day exploring the woods, looking for something to research and document. He came across an unusual-looking dog, but mere seconds after spotting it, the animal darted off deeper into the forest. Twice, he'd fallen into the same ditch whilst trying to approach a familiar-looking gnome, and he'd nearly been knocked out of a tree that he'd climbed in order to approach an unfamiliar species of bird. Clearly, today was not going his way.

When he finally arrived back at the shack, he'd expected a grouchy Stanley to be shooting him dark glares whilst preparing dinner. What he'd actually come back to was a pale-faced Dipper and a distraught-looking Mabel, both looking up at Soos, who was nervously talking on the phone.

"We'll be right there," the gopher-looking man said quietly before hanging up.

"Is something wrong?" Stanford asked, concern biting at his chest.

Both of the younger Pines twins turned to look at him with frightened eyes. "G-Grunkle Stan's just… just been in a car accident," Dipper murmured.

* * *

 **Bill: *stares at me dumbfoundedly* I knew you were sadistic, but I didn't think you'd take it _this_ far! Not even _I_ am that cruel!**

 **Howls: *currently crying out of self-loathing and because of the next chapter* I know! I don't know why I do this! Somebody help me! *breaks down into a sobbing mess***

 **Bill: *sighs* Review, you lousy fleshbags. Send her a link to some psychologist before she turns me into a kitten and gets me run over.**

 **Howls: *still wailing* I'm so sorry!**


	5. Reconciliation - Chapter 4

**The wait is over! Time to put your minds at ease (and possibly stem the flow of tears and rage).**

 **But first; reviews!**

 _ **Kieve Grove:**_ **Yeah, but the younger twins only have a minor role in this series, and won't be here at all after the summer ends in this story. But Wendy and Soos will be in here, so will that be okay? And sorry for the cliffhanger (any luck on Bill's request for a psychologist?), and double sorry for what I'm doing with Stan (and your questions are hereby answered in this chapter). And... wow, I'm glad I could impress you with so few chapters. I am quite literally honoured.**

 _ **Liliana Dragonshard:**_ **Sorry! I don't mean to be so cruel!**

 _ **Squideepoo:**_ **Thank you. I'm glad you at least tried to get me that psychologist XD**

 _ **HowAboutThat:**_ ***bursts into tears* I'm sorry!**

 **Umm... is... is this alright? *sniffs***

 _ **Candymouse22 (guest):**_ **I surprised myself with this twist.**

 _ **Guest (guest):**_ **Clearly, you don't know me. I am the harbinger of angst!**

 _ **kay (guest):**_ **Nuuuuu!**

 **Okay, I'm done. Enjoy the OOC-ness and tears!**

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – I Still Need You**

One advantage to having six fingers was that you had an extra fingernail to chew on when you got nervous. Thankfully, Stanford didn't have such a habit, because he'd have chewed his nails to nothing by now if he did. Although now, he was clicking his pen feverishly as he anxiously waited for Soos to pull up in front of the hospital. All his thoughts were focused on Stanley. He'd been caught in a car accident, but Stanford had no idea how such a thing had happened. His brother had been a bit of a daredevil on the roads, but never truly _reckless_ to the point where he'd cause a car crash.

Soos was at the wheel; eyes dead-set on the road; and the twins were in the back, casting wary glances in Stanford's direction. He refused to look them in the eyes. He couldn't, lest he break down in front of them.

Red light. The pen slipped out of Stanford's hand, and he bumped his head on the glove compartment lid fumbling to retrieve it. Then he returned to clicking it. Why couldn't everything move faster, dammit?

He was shaking by the time they finally reached the hospital. At the reception desk, he had to let Soos do the talking whilst he paced about in the same high-strung circle just behind them. A nurse brushed past him, and he had to fight the urge to lash out at him in his panic. When they were finally admitted to the ward, he almost ran there before he realised that he didn't know where the heck he was going. So he was limited to remaining hot on the others' heels whilst also shooting paranoid glances at anyone who passed.

There he was; lying on a gurney, eyes closed, an IV hooked up to his arm, clad in a sea-foam green hospital gown, chin bearing a nasty-looking bruise; was Stanley freaking Pines. He… he looked almost dead.

Tears immediately stung the corners of Stanford's eyes, and he felt his legs stiffen up. He couldn't fucking move. Goddammit, this was his brother, and he _couldn't walk up to him and_ -.

"Grunkle Stan!" Mabel and Dipper chorused, rushing up to the hospital bed and desperately clinging onto Stanley's hands as if it would do something to help. Heck, even Soos was hovering at the foot of the bed, and what was Stanford doing? Absolutely nothing, that's what!

He felt helpless. Useless! He didn't know what to do, and he was supposed to be the smart twin, but _no_! All the calculations, research and scientific knowledge in his head, and he had no idea what to say around his brother, who lay unconscious in a hospital bed, right in front of him, _right now_!

Slowly, on shaking legs, Stanford approached the bed and wearily dropped into the hard plastic chair that was placed alongside it. There was a stunned, empty look in his wide eyes as he gazed upon his brother's prone form. He was so still…

"Aah, dudes," Soos said, catching the young twins' attention. "We should… we should let your uncle… err… we should go."

Stanford hardly noticed the anxious look that passed between Dipper and Mable; barely reacted when they followed Soos out of the room. His attention was focused solely on the shallow rise and fall of Stan's chest, and the steady bleeping of the heart monitor. It wasn't until the elder set of twins were completely alone when Stanford finally managed to choke out a single word.

"That's it..? Forty years risking your damn neck, and it's a freakin' car crash that puts you down? You asshole! You can't just leave me like this!"

The tears were falling freely now, soaking the front of his red turtleneck. In desperation, he took hold of Stan's hand and kept a firm grip on it.

"I-I'm sorry, alright! I should've listened to what you had to say. Whenever I was given a choice between my own goals and my family, I took the former option, and look where the fuck that's gotten me! I'm a mess. You were right when you said I couldn't take care of myself."

A twitch, but that was the only movement. _Stanley, don't do this to me!_

"I still need you," Ford continued. "You're my other half; I barely made it through the last thirty years without you. I… I know I don't have a right to ask this of you, but… can you promise that you'll try to… to pull through this? I promise I won't give up on you this time. Not again."

The next few minutes were spent with Stanford quietly sniffling and clutching Stanley's hand to his chest. Jesus Christ, how old was he? Five?

"You really do care, don't you, Poindexter?"

Stanford gasped in shock, eyes snapping up to lock with a set of brown ones; identical to his own; set into a face that bore a devious smirk. Anger immediately bubbled in Stanford's chest.

"You jerk!" he roared, rising to his feet; overturning the chair in the process; with a look of irate rage on his face. "I thought you were in fucking critical! Do you have any idea how scared I was?! The kids were so _worried_ about you! You are such a prick! You ass!

A rough chortle vibrated out of Stan's chest, and Ford had to resist the urge to smack him upside the face. "The doctor didn't tell you?" his brother queried. "That's just rich! Nothing's the matter with me; just a few bruises and a minor concussion-."

"You've been concussed since birth, you piece of-."

"Okay, enough language. And what happened to that 'I need you' speech?"

Embarrassment found its way into Stanford's eyes. "You looked near dead!" he roared. "And you decided to make a goddamn joke out of it!"

"And it was hilarious."

"I hate you."

"Nah, you love me really."

Stanford's scowl deepened, and he turned to storm out of the ward, but was stopped by a strong hand grabbing his wrist.

"Ford."

Looking over his shoulder at Stan, Ford saw the sincerity and utter gratitude in his brother's eyes. "Look, I'm sorry," the bedridden twin said. He let go of Stanford's arm to raise his hand in a familiar manner. "High six?"

Fresh tears pricked at Ford's eyes, and instead of returning the childhood gesture, he knelt down by the bed and engulfed Stanley in a hug. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

* * *

 **Stanley: Yes! *fist bumps* I'm not dead!**

 **Mabel: And you and Fordsy hugged it out! Hugs solve everything. *turns to glare at Howl* Don't scare us like that!**

 **Howl: I'm sorry! *turns to look at you, my dear readers* One last post before this particular arc of the 'Reconciliation' series is over! I hope you've enjoyed this so far, and that you'll stick around for the upcoming drabbles, too. I still have more bro-love to write!**

 **Mabel: And review, to let her know what you want her to write!**

 **Howls: Yeah, I am taking requests. It'll be interesting to know what ideas you all have. Anyways, I have an epilogue to complete. Byeeee!**


	6. Reconciliation - Epilogue

**Hey. Sorry I disappeared for a while. I just... I just kinda when 'eh', and went into a world of my own. I've still been writing though, and I finished this about a week ago, but I wasn't quite sure about it. A quick re-read, and I was satisfied, though. I'll leave you guys to read it as soon as I respond to these reviews :)**

 _ **Liliana Dragonshard:**_ **Haha, so true! And it would be amazing if such a thing did happen in the show!**

 _ **HowAboutThat:**_ **Don't hit me! *hides* And you're welcome, and I'm glad you can start reading Fallen Dream now. I can't wait to see what you think about it.**

 _ **Kieve Grove:**_ **I like to let people know that I appreciate getting feedback from them. And I'm hoping to maybe have a chapter in which Wendy tries to help Stanford get over his social anxiety, so stick around for that ;) Poor Bill (not) XD**

 **Wow, I'm actually quite surprised that my writing managed to have that effect on you. It's a good kind of surprised though. And you're welcome :D**

 _ **Tell-Me-Tales:**_ **Oops. I always thought there was an extra 't'. Fixed it!**

 _ **Guest (guest):**_ **Already on it! Any other suggestions?**

 _ **Candymouse22 (guest):**_ **Thank you! And yes, Stanley is a jerk.**

 _ **R.T (guest) (review for chapter 3):**_ **Umm... I can neither confirm nor deny it, since thanks to FanFiction, half the URL you have presented to me is deleted, and I do not know how to complete it. If you are perchance referring to an image from kiki-kit in which Ford is hiding behind Stan, then yes, I do believe that that is the image I was talking about. Wow, I sounded... weird...**

 _ **Katelyn Holmes:**_ **Thank you!**

 **Enjoy the chapter, guys!**

* * *

 **Epilogue**

Stanford spent the whole night standing vigil over Stanley at the hospital. Jumping at every sound, casting suspicious glances towards the needles and the fluids they contained that nurses brought in, he was the definition of paranoia. But Lee didn't care. He and his brother could finally move on from the past. For once, things were taking a turn for the better.

Thanks to that extra night of sleep deprivation added to his list, it was Stanford leaning on his brother for support that morning; not the other way around; when Stanley was finally discharged from the hospital. In the back of Soos's car, he fell asleep within five minutes; almost leaning over to squash Mabel (who was seated between her two Grunkles and chattering non-stop about something that Stanford was too tired to process) until a gentle push from Stan resulted in him with his forehead pressed up against the window.

The sudden halt of the car's rumbling was what startled Ford into wakefulness, and he stumbled out of the car.

"You okay there, Poindexter?" Stan asked. "You seem a little… out of sorts."

"I'm just tired," Ford admitted wearily as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "What about you?"

"Chest aches, but I've been through worse. Been to prison in three different countries, remember?"

"Of course."

Inside the Shack, they were greeted by a hustle and bustle in the kitchen, where Mabel and Soos were rushing about, grabbing pots, pans and multiple food items from the shelves.

"What's going on here?" Stanley demanded.

"We're making dinner," Mabel said matter-of-factly.

"It's not even lunchtime yet."

"This meal takes a while to cook, so we're getting a head start."

"Fine. Just don't set fire to anything," Stanley implored.

"You have no faith!" Mabel retorted.

* * *

Whist Mabel and Soos were making dinner, Stan and Ford both lounged back on the couch and mindlessly flicked through the channels on the television. There was a brief scuffle over the remote until the former managed to flick it onto a rerun of 'The Mummy'. Within minutes, Stanford was absorbed in the movie like a child watching a cheesy cartoon show.

"I've been thinking," he said after a while.

"Aren't you always?" Stanley joked, earning an unimpressed frown from his brother. "Okay, okay. What's up?"

"When summer's over," Stanford began, noting the disappointed look in his brother's eyes. "How about we close up the Shack for a short while and go on a camping trip? Just you and me against the world again, huh?"

Stan's eyes widened in shock. "You're not joking?"

"Of course not. So, what do you think?"

An elated grin found its way onto Stanley's face, and he gripped Stanford in a one-armed hug. "You kidding me? How could I say no?"

Chuckling, Ford returned the embrace, but was startled by a _'click!'_ and a bright flash of light.

"Scrapbookertunity!" Mabel cheered, brandishing her camera proudly. She and Dipper were stood by the door to the kitchen with Wendy and Soos just behind them. "Wendy, take this next one!"

Handing the camera to Wendy, she grabbed Dipper by the arm and dragged him over to the couch. With a wordless yell of glee, both the younger twins jumped on top of their uncles and joined the hug.

"Ow, Mabel!" Stanley complained good-naturedly. "Watch my chest!"

"Group hugs for life!" Mabel shouted regardless, trying to embrace both uncles, albeit with some difficulty.

Jovial laughter filled the Mystery Shack as the tension finally eased. The future was certainly looking brighter. For now, at least.

* * *

 **Howl: *laughs with joy* This made me so happy. Now to move onto more madness!**

 **Ford: *narrows his eyes* I don't like where your mind is headed.**

 **Howl: Good! That means you're still somewhat sane!**

 **Ford: *scowls* I'll have you know that I am _perfectly_ sane. Unlike you.**

 **Howl: Come on, Pines, we both know that you're hiding away the crazy bad trauma the same way I'm always hiding my madness from the real world. *starts humming 'The Real World' by Owl City***

 **Ford: *looks like he's about to argue, but gives up and sighs in annoyance* Whatever. *looks at the readers* Please review, and send some suggestions as to what Howl should write next.**

 **Howl: Thanks for that, Ford. Now time for me to be a sentimental sap! *turns to face the readers* Guys, thank you so much for reading this story and supporting me; even the simple click that lead you here has gone a long way, and the wonderful reviews that some of you have left me continue to warm my heart even after countlessly reading over them again and again. It might sound egotistical of me, but I don't think I've gotten this much attention from any of my other stories so easily. You see; I first came to FanFiction to present my writing to the public as a means of gaining feedback on my writing from people with the same interests as me, so that I can use the skills I gain in my original works of fiction that I actually intend to publish someday. In all honesty, I didn't expect much, but now you marvellous people of the Gravity Falls community have offered me so much in the way of motivational support that it amazes me beyond words. You people are the reason I am putting so much effort into this particular fandom, and I love you all for it. Thank you so much for giving me a chance; it means so much to me. Yours truly; hrhowling**


	7. Scars

**Eeeyy! The series continues! This could've been better, but motivation halted at some point, and I just wanted to get it over and done with. I... jumped straight onto the bandwagon of this headcanon.**

 **Reviews, then story!**

 ** _HowAboutThat:_ Thanks! And I hope you enjoy Fallen Dream, too. Yay, I'm not alone! Oh, and the reason I've not put a 'complete' sign on it is because this series is far from over! I've still got to get through the rest of the year! ;)**

 ** _Squideepoo:_ Thank you! I'll do my best!**

 ** _Candymouse22:_ Thank you!**

 ** _Liliana Dragonshard:_ Thank you. And I'll certainly carry out those shenanigans with the camping once I get to it. Just need to finish off the summer first.**

 ** _Guest:_ Here it is! Enjoy!**

* * *

 **Scars**

Stan, of course, had noticed his brother's constant wearing of the same damned turtleneck. At first, he hadn't said anything about it, seeing as how he himself wore the same outfit almost day in, day out, but sometimes there were limits.

"Ford, it's hot as a deep fryer here, why the heck are you still in that turtleneck?" he demanded as a sweaty-looking Stanford walked into the kitchen. Perspiration was beading on his forehead, and that red turtleneck was beginning to cling to his torso. "I thought the air conditioning in the lab was busted."

"I'm fine," Stanford dismissed, walking up to the fridge and pulling out a can of Pitt Cola. However, Stan wasn't convinced.

"Do you ever take that thing off? Seriously, I've never seen you without it."

"Does it matter?"

"Stanford, if you aren't careful, you'll get heat exhaustion."

"Don't worry about me," Ford insisted. "I've had to deal with worse."

Stan's brow furrowed, and he wanted to press on further, but there was a look in his brother's eyes that told him that the conversation wasn't going to go on any further, so he clammed up. No need to spark up conflict other a piece of clothing.

* * *

 _Later that Day_

 _Christ, it was warm._

Stanford groaned in exasperation as he ran his sweaty hands down his equally sweaty face. He'd gone down to the lab in the hopes that being underground would help him to cool down, but in reality, it just made things worse. And he'd also ran out of water to drink, and he didn't want to cause any disruption by coming into the gift shop through the vending machine. He needed to get an alternate entrance for the lab.

Groggy and disoriented by the heat, Stanford pulled himself from his chair and onto his feet, walking over to the desk fan on the other side of the room. Turning it on, he expected to feel somewhat cooled. To his disappointment, it just sent more warm air into his face.

He turned it off, and returned to his desk.

 _"_ _Why the heck are you still in that turtleneck?"_

 _"_ _Stanford, if you're not careful, you'll get heat exhaustion."_

A weary sigh escaped Stanford's lungs as his brother's logic registered in his brain. Stan was right; he was only going to burn up if he kept his turtleneck on, but… he just…

 ** _Just take it off already!_** snapped the voice in his head. **_No one's going to come down here until the Shack closes. They won't see._**

 _Okay… Okay, I'll take it off,_ Ford surrendered, pulling the turtleneck off over his head, breathing a sigh of relief when the suffocating heat relented. It didn't last, because he was quickly overtaken by self-consciousness. A brief shudder passed through him as he ran a hand along his arm; feeling the uneven surface. Even now, it disgusted and horrified him.

Shaking off his discomfort, Stanford leaned over his desk and returned to work.

* * *

"Hey, Poindexter!" Stan yelled as he stepped out of the elevator. "I've got you some-. Hot Belgian waffles! Ford!"

Stanford jumped to attention at the sound of Stanley's voice. In a panic, he grabbed for his turtleneck that was draped over the side of the desk, but he only succeeded in knocking over the glass of water settled next to it.

"S-Stanley!" he stuttered. "What're you-?"

"What the fuck are those?!" Stan demanded, gesturing wildly to Ford's arms. Immediately, Stanford cringed and ran his hands along them, as if it would hide the horrible, horrible scars that covered them. Splotchy acid burns, ugly grooves where something had tried to constrict him, various scratch marks crisscrossed his skin in a horrifying tapestry of violence and pain.

"They're scars…" Stanford said quietly.

"From what?! Ford… why didn't you tell me?"

Pain flashed across Ford's features, and he looked away. "I just wanted to forget," he murmured. "I didn't want to burden you with my own issues."

Stan scowled angrily, but the expression melted into one of sympathy. "Stanford, you can always trust me. I don't care how tough it is on me, you can always tell me when something's bothering. Is that why you always wear those freaking turtlenecks?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Do you… do you want to talk about it?"

Reluctance flickered through Stanford's eyes, but in the end, he sighed and sat down in his desk chair.

"Okay," he relented, running a hand through his hair. "Where do I start?"

"The beginning?"

"I'm not sure where that is exactly, but maybe… These are as close as I can get," he murmured, lifting his head and pointing at his neck. There was scarring there, too. Ugly chafing, as if something had been rubbing against it enough to draw blood. "I was kept in chains for… I don't know, maybe… maybe six years? Six years at the most."

Horror dawned on Stan's features. "Oh, god… Ford…"

"They toyed with me," Stanford continued miserably. "For six goddamn years, I was their plaything! Every single… I don't even know what! They never got tired of it. Never got tired of hearing me scream and beg for mercy whilst they-!"

"Ford, stop!" Stan implored, racing over and grasping his brother by the shoulders. There was a frantic look in the six-fingered twin's eyes as terror brimmed in them. A panic attack. "Stop, it's okay. You don't have to go on."

Stanford's breaths were harsh and shaky, and he struggled to take in deep breaths in order to calm down. In the hopes that it would help, Stan kept murmuring calm reassurances to him and rubbing his shoulders. It was gradual, but Stanford managed to regain his senses and steady his breathing.

"You alright, Sixer?"

Stanford nodded in affirmation. There was still an underlying fear in his eyes, but at least he wasn't yelling in terror or anything else. "I'm fine. Sorry about that."

"Don't be. You had it rough, didn't you?"

"You could say that," Ford said glumly.

"Hey… Whenever you feel like talking about it; just let me know. You need to get this off of your chest, but I won't force you."

"Thank you."

"No problem, Poindexter. High six?"

"High six."

* * *

 **Dipper: You like that headcanon too much.**

 **Howls: I know. Mind asking them..?**

 **Dipper: *shrugs* Review, please.**


End file.
